


Blood and Battle Lines

by Mossyrock



Series: Ineffable Husbands Bingo [16]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate universe - Mafia, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:33:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21557842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossyrock/pseuds/Mossyrock
Summary: Two rival mafias are trying to broker peace between them. What works better than an arranged marriage between their heirs, who desperately hate each other? What could possibly go wrong?For my Ineffable Husbands bingo prompt - Arranged Marriage.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Husbands Bingo [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1476251
Comments: 21
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

The Angelo and D’Agostino families had been at war for countless generations. They were two of the most powerful Italian families, who had divided their turf long ago and anyone who crossed the line paid the price. Both sides were ruthless and power hungry. It’d been a long and brutal war that had cost too many lives, innocent and guilty alike. 

But now it was time to end the feud. The patriarchs had decided to try to heal the breach and stop the bloodshed. They met in a café, halfway between their bases, in a neutral zone. No weapons and no fights. And they miraculously brokered a deal. The best way to guarantee peace and prosperity with an enemy was to connect the families, so that they became blood. Nothing mattered more to either side than family.

So it was decided – their heirs would wed, uniting the two families and ensuring co-operation. It was a perfect plan.

Except no one bothered to ask the heirs if they wanted to get married. 

Aziraphale Angelo was a beautiful young woman, who was as powerful as she was softly spoken. She ruled from behind the scenes, using her good looks (she had stunningly large, expressive blue eyes and a pout that could bring a man to his knees) and shy smiles to ‘encourage’ people to do her bidding. She had been raised by two powerful parents, Gabriel and Michael, who had more aggression than sense. Aziraphale wasn’t like that. She was cautious, stubborn and liked to be in control, whether everyone knew it or not. She seemed like the perfect little woman, meek and good-natured. She played her part to perfection. 

Anthony “Crowley” D’Agostino was a young man, reckless and power hungry. He was a hot head – which matched his fiery red hair - and didn’t mind who he stepped on to get his way. He would pose and preen and his ego was the size of Europe three times over. He wasn’t to be messed with and everyone knew it. One wrong move and he’d shoot you down (either literally or metaphorically). His mother had died when he was young, leaving him to be raised by his father, Luciano, who was as hot headed as his son. Both liked everyone to know who they were and that they were the ones in control. 

Aziraphale’s reaction to the engagement was to attempt to scheme her way out of it. She’d met her rival before, of course. They couldn’t help but to run into each other, running in similar social circles, each vying for the top spot. Aziraphale resented that he, being a man, had the advantage. Politicians, media and the general public took more notice of him, with his charisma and power. She had to work five times as hard, just to get any recognition at all. But she bore it with a smile – and a keen sense of vengeance. 

Anthony’s reaction had been to throw things and yell. His father knew his temper and was as thoroughly unfazed by the theatrics as the head of a mafia could be. Anthony was a ladies' man. He couldn’t be tied down, especially not to the scheming, conniving daughter of their rivals. He used his charms to woo important women – the wives of politicians, models and celebrities – to get his name out in the news and boost his reputation. He played the game and he played it well. He wouldn’t get married, period. 

* * *

One month before the wedding was the engagement party. Every person of note was invited and Aziraphale felt like a caged lion at a zoo – about to be paraded around for the amusement of spectators, when she’d much rather be running free. 

“Why are you making me marry this man and why are you making it such a spectacle?” She huffed. 

“Because, dear, you know how much this means to your father.”

Her mother, Michael, was helping her into a frankly ridiculously low cut gown. It was made of the finest silk and had not enough material to cover her not-a-supermodel physique. It made Aziraphale want to scream and rip the thing to shreds. Only her body was being constricted by a shaping undergarment that restricted her blood and air flow, heavily affecting her ability to do either of those things. 

“What conquering the D’Agostino’s means to him, you mean,” She muttered.

Her mother heard her and tutted, but didn’t rebut the statement, proving Aziraphale right. Her father had wanted a son. But with only one child – and a daughter at that – Gabriel had no hopes that their dynasty could last. This marriage was his last-ditch attempt to ensure their survival, whether Aziraphale liked it or not. 

And she didn’t like it at all. 

The whole thing was a ridiculous sham and a cruel charade, designed to humiliate her and ruin any respect she’d managed to garner over the years of wheeling and dealing. All because she lacked a dick. 

“So, I’m supposed to go out there and pretend I want to marry Anthony?” 

“Yes. It’s not going to be that difficult,” Her mother admonished.

That was easy for her to say. If she’d been forced to spend even one moment around Anthony D’Agostino, she’d know he was a pretentious arsehole who didn’t care about anything but himself. 

“Tonight, maybe. But what about the rest of my life? What then?”

Her mother’s face was perfectly still and carefully neutral. Aziraphale knew that meant trouble.

Something in the pit of her stomach felt heavy. She had a bad feeling about this. 

* * *

“Are you serious? You want me to wear a tie? You know I don’t wear ties,” Crowley grumbled. 

“You’ll wear a tie and you’ll pretend to be happy about this wedding.” The ' _Or else_ ' was heavily implied.

Luciano tied the dark red tie around his son’s neck, making it extra tight, almost choking him. As if Crowley didn’t already feel uncomfortable and claustrophobic enough. 

“At least there’ll be plenty of influential people there. I can charm, grease some palms, maybe take a politicians wife back to my hotel room…” 

“You will do no such thing. You will pretend to be the perfect devoted fiancé and that is final,” His father snapped. 

“But...”

“No. End of discussion.”

Luciano stormed out of the room and Crowley sighed. He could pretend to be attracted to Aziraphale. That wasn’t difficult. She was gorgeous, with her long blonde hair and big, blue eyes. But he’d have to pretend he didn’t know she was a stuck-up little bitch. That was the hard part. 

He wasn’t sure why his father had agreed to this whole stupid plan. He didn’t want to marry her, and he was sure his father didn’t want him to marry her either. They hated the Angelo’s. They were natural enemies. 

But perhaps this was his father’s way of getting him to settle down and have his own heirs. It was the only reason Crowley could think of that made any sense. Guaranteeing the longevity of the family was his father’s first and only priority. Crowley was happy to grow the 'family' through recruitment, shady deals and a bit of blackmail. But apparently that wasn’t good enough.

There was no way this could end well. 

* * *

Crowley sauntered into the hotel ballroom like he owned it. While that wasn’t technically true, his father did have a rather large investment in this particular hotel, along with some particular secrets pertaining to its proprietor. Crowley would be surprised if they’d paid anything to rent the room. It was empty now, but in about an hour, the place would be overrun by schmoosing idiots – thousands of them. He almost broke out in hives at the very idea. He should be used to it by now, but he preferred to do his business a little more privately. Wheeling and dealing in back rooms was far more his specialty. 

Aziraphale swept into the ballroom, long gown swishing around her. It sounded and felt ludicrous. She was dressed up like a prize idiot, all to celebrate a wedding she was still desperately plotting a way out of. She had expected the ballroom to be empty and was surprised to find it wasn’t. Crowley stood near the entrance, looking about as excited by this entire nightmare as she felt. She hoped he wouldn’t notice her, but the click of her heels caused his head to whip around, meeting her eyes. 

“Aziraphale, you look gorgeous tonight, as always.” He turned his most charming smile on her. His eyes looked her over, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. She did look good. She wasn’t the tall, slim types that he usually favoured, but she was beautiful. Radiant and angelic, if he was prone to purple prose. Luckily, he wasn’t.

She wanted to smack the grin right off his stupid, smug face. 

“Save it for the audience, Crowley,” She growled. He looked so incredibly tall and slim in his perfectly tailored charcoal suit. His red tie and red hair showed off his tanned skin, a perfect blend of his Italian and non-Italian genes. She could see why the women threw themselves at him, but luckily his odious personality was enough to clear her head and cool her hormones. 

“Why, angel, you wound me.” His hand flew to cover his heart, face mock hurt.

She rolled her eyes. 

“I will wound you in a minute, if you don’t stop ogling me.” She shrunk in on herself. She felt more self-conscious than she’d been since her teen years. Her cleavage was almost entirely on display. She hated it. She’d much rather be at home with a good book and some soft, worn flannel pyjamas. But it was not to be. 

“Are you this charming with everyone?” He was propped against the wall at such an angle that it looked comical. Aziraphale couldn’t see how it could possibly be comfortable. 

“Just with my hereditary enemies.” 

“Well then, aren’t I lucky?” He drawled. 

She didn’t respond, too busy trying to avoid looking at him and ignoring his very existence. 

“Listen, neither of us want this, neither of us are going to let this happen, but for tonight we need to pretend,” Crowley pushed himself off the wall and leaned in to whisper. The walls had ears and both of their families had ways of knowing everything. Caution had been ingrained in them since birth. 

“The wedding isn’t going to happen,” Aziraphale stated, like it was a known fact.

“You have a plan to stop it?” He watched her, eyebrow raised. 

“I do. I have some friends who are going to help me, but I need time.”

“We only have one month until we’re getting married. We don’t _have_ time.”

“Well, then you’d better shut up and help me.”   
She gave him a sweet smile, that seemed so genuine and innocent, but he knew it was anything but. 

“What’s the plan, then?” 

* * *

“That’s the plan?!” He screeched, indignantly. 

“Got any better ideas? Got a _single_ better idea?” She raised both eyebrows and waited. 

Crowley just glared at her, as if she’d insulted his mother. 

“Well, if you don’t come up with anything, I’m going with my idea. It might help if you were willing to co-operate, but I can do it without you.” She didn’t need his help, but it would make things 100% easier. 

“I’ll help. Your people will only fuck it up.” 

She glared back, but it only made him smirk.

“You don’t do angry very well, angel,” He scoffed. 

“Call me angel one more time, I dare you,” She said, through a beautiful, but deadly, razor sharp smile. 

“Fine, I won’t call you anything. Soon enough, we won’t ever have to speak again.” He gave his own smile, but it was more of a grimace. He never was good at fake smiles. 

“We can only pray.” 

* * *

The room was crowded, and people were all craning their necks to see the ‘happy’ couple. No one could believe that the heirs of rival families could've fallen in love. Until they saw them together. They were almost attached at the hip, smiling and laughing, drinking and toasting their love and relationship.

Even their parents seemed to approve, which baffled many an onlooker who knew the history between the families.

The betrothed couple even danced, whispering between themselves and looking gorgeous on the floor. They were by far the most beautiful couple in the room. 

“So, we will meet at my hotel room tomorrow night?” Crowley whispered in Aziraphale’s ear.

To an eavesdropper, it would seem like a couple meeting up without the watchful eye of their parents. And while that was true, it wasn’t the full story. They were plotting. 

“Ok, I’ll bring my boys and you bring yours. We can formulate the plan and work out the logistics.” 

“Great. We can also discuss it over dinner.” He glanced around, making sure they weren’t being watched too closely. As they twirled, they both took stock of who was watching, rather than having to look at each other. 

“Dinner?” Her brows had furrowed. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not asking you on a date. But our parents are going to make us do the rounds, make sure people see us together. Make it look real.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing right now?” She laughed as if he’d said something amusing.

She had a nice laugh, he thought. It was light and musical. 

“Once isn’t enough. We need to sell it.” 

Aziraphale sighed. 

“I’d really rather not.”

“I know how you feel,” He replied. 

The look on his face perfectly matched how she was feeling. For the first time, she empathised with him. 

“God, who is that sexy woman over there?” He said suddenly. 

Aziraphale turned and saw Anathema standing at the edge of the dancefloor, looking tall, dark and beautiful. Everything Aziraphale wasn’t. 

And just like that, any good will he’d won from her was lost again. 

“So, tomorrow night, we work out the details?” 

“Yeah, sure,” He replied absently. His attention was still focussed on Anathema. 

Aziraphale was so glad it wasn’t real. Imagine loving an evil, self-centred bastard like Anthony D’Agostino. Only a fool would fall for him. 

* * *

The next night, Aziraphale and her entourage arrived at the hotel, making their way up to Crowley’s hotel room. It was still early enough they could discuss specifics, before the two of them would have to go to dinner. Her heart sank at the thought. 

Aziraphale knocked four times, waited and knocked another 3. The door swung open and a tall, repulsive smelling man opened the door. Aziraphale didn’t even look at him, instead looking over his shoulder. Crowley waved them in.

She took a seat on the couch, carefully folding her hands in her lap. Crowley sat, half reclining on the bed, limbs everywhere.

The various entourage members wearily sized each other up, but they weren’t there to talk, so no introductions were made.

“So, you want us to kidnap you the day before the wedding?”

“Yes. We have a huge fight, somewhere public, a few days before the wedding. Somewhere that people hear us fighting. We make sure people hear me yelling about how it was all a plot to take over my father’s territory. I act as if I’m jilted,” The disgusted look on her face let everyone know how she felt about that idea. “Then the day before the wedding, I disappear. Maybe somewhere public, with kicking and screaming, maybe I just get in my car and drive. Either way, if we put something of yours, something incriminating somewhere, it’ll seem like you were behind it. My father attacks, yours retaliates, I resurface a few days later and then it’s business as usual.” She explained, as if it were simple.

“Right. I think somewhere public is best, make a real show of it. If I’m seen kidnapping you, it might be too suspicious, but I can get Hastur and Ligur to do it,” He gestured at two of his men. “Everyone knows they work for me.”

“They’ll be careful?” She asked, eying them up. They didn’t look like much. Could they trust them to get it right?

Crowley looked offended. He turned to his men, who flinched at the look in his eyes. Aziraphale could tell he led by intimidation. 

“Guys, you’ll kidnap the angel carefully, right?” 

“Sure thing, boss,” The tall one who answered the door answered. 

Aziraphale wasn’t entirely convinced, but once all was said and done, she could hunt them down and have them taken care of. That would have to do. 

“Good,” She nodded, “Then we’ll pick a convenient and populated area for the kidnapping.” 

“Wonderful,” His tone was dry, lacking all enthusiasm. He was still angry they’d been forced into this situation at all. But he knew better than to argue with his father once he’d made his mind up.

“If that’s all sorted, we have a dinner reservation to keep.” 

He stood and offered her his arm. She rolled her eyes, but played along, taking his arm and letting herself be led out of the hotel and into a beautiful vintage Bentley. 

* * *

They arrived at the restaurant only a handful of silent minutes later, thanks to some rather reckless driving by Crowley. It was a fancy, upscale place. The kind of place a woman like Aziraphale would expect to be taken by her smitten fiancé. 

They sat at a table right in the middle of the floor, in clear view of everyone. At Crowley’s smug smile, she assumed that was his doing. They did need to be seen, after all. 

But it would make things difficult by being surrounded by eyes, if they wanted to do anymore planning. And they would have to continue playing the adoring couple, who had fallen in love despite the odds. Star-crossed lovers. 

Aziraphale hoped they turned out better than Romeo and Juliet, but she had serious doubts. 

Crowley confidently ordered them both a glass of wine, before Aziraphale could even utter a single syllable and two menus appeared before them as if by magic. The wait staff seemed to know Crowley, and like his own staff, they seemed to fear him. Aziraphale gave them reassuring smiles, if they dared to meet her eyes. 

She flipped to the back of the menu, perusing the desserts on offer. 

“Straight to dessert, huh?” Crowley commented idly.

She shot him a warning look. 

“If you say anything about my size, I swear to God...” She trailed off, hype aware of the hundreds of eyes watching them. 

“Not at all, angel. Just noting that my beautiful fiancée has a sweet tooth. Of course, I won your heart with flowers and chocolates,” He’d leaned in, also conscious of the many spectators, “But if you’re that desperate to end the evening with me..?” He was fishing for an explanation. 

She sighed and gave in, knowing he’d never let it go if she didn’t explain. He seemed the annoying type, like a dog with a bone. 

“Any good restaurant has at least three, but no more than six desserts on offer, my dear. I’m just checking to make sure my attentive husband-to-be brought me to a decent establishment.” The fake smile and adoration in her eyes physically pained her. But she had to pretend, even if he didn’t. She was to play the jilted lover to his heartless monster. She had no doubts they could both play their parts. 

“Only the best for my beloved,” He grinned at her, all teeth and no warmth. “But don’t worry. This place is one of my regulars. They do an amazing chateaubriand with a black truffle butter. And their tiramisu is to die for.” 

Of course, Aziraphale hadn’t been there before, because it was on the other side of the battlelines. It seemed a pity. With the vintage look and decadent sounding desserts, this place could’ve been one of her favourites. She could just see herself sat at a back table alone, eating and reading. It sounded like heaven. 

“So, this is where you bring your women?” She asked innocently, fluttering her eyelashes. 

“No. This place is too good for that.” 

She didn’t have time to examine that too closely before the waiter had appeared to take their orders. 

“So, what would you be doing if you weren’t the heiress to a mafia?” He asked, once they’d ordered and were once again left in awkward silence. 

“We aren’t a mafia,” She hissed, glancing around. She’d worked hard to change their reputation. It was all in how it was packaged. 

“Sure. And I’m a saint,” He rolled his eyes. 

She ignored him. 

“Come on. You need to work with me here,” He cajoled.

She looked up at him and he was watching her, strangely intently. She squirmed under his gaze. 

“I’ll even go first. I wanted to be a doctor.”

That shocked her and, at the sight of his smirk, she hadn’t done a good job of hiding it.

“Really? A doctor?”

“Yeah. An oncologist.” He was still looking at her and she saw a sadness in his eyes. 

“Why?” She asked.

He hesitated.

She leaned forward, taking his hand that lay on the table in hers. She saw him jerk, as if to pull away, but he remembered in time that couples hold hands and they were, for appearances sake, a couple. 

“My mother. She died when I was 6. I barely remember her. And what I do remember was her being sick. I always thought…” He stopped, looking as if he hadn’t meant to share nearly as much as he had.

“I’m sorry,” She said. And she meant it. The pain at losing his mother was easily visible, even after all these years. 

She hadn't thought he'd been capable of such emotions. 

“It’s fine. It was a long time ago,” He shrugged, trying and failing to look nonchalant, before changing the subject back to the question at hand, “So, what about you?”

“Well,” She hesitated. Even after all he’d shared, it still felt vulnerable to share her fondest dream. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“I promise.”

He crossed his heart with the hand not being held in hers and gave her a broad smile that showed off his dimples. It was charming. But she pushed that thought back and glanced away before she whispered. 

“I like reading, so I always thought I’d like to be a librarian or have a bookshop, maybe. Filled with beautiful rare antique books.” She felt herself blushing, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. 

When she looked back at him, she saw the same amount of surprise she imagined she herself had worn only moments before. 

“Huh. You’re full of surprises, angel.”

“As are you, my dear.” She smiled, fake and overly sweet. 

She hated that nickname – _angel_. It wasn’t that she had something against the name itself, but she hated that he felt familiar enough to use it. Only her parents had that distinction. But he clearly knew how much it annoyed her. He was doing it to get under her skin. Aziraphale would rise above it. 

The rest of the dinner passed in idle chatter, keeping up the pretence of a couple out on a romantic date. 

It turned out that Crowley had quite a sense of humour, though it tended to be darker and sharper than Aziraphale’s. But it wasn’t mean spirited, like she’d first assumed. 

“I’ll see you Friday night?” He asked, as they walked to the car after dinner, and dessert. 

Aziraphale had ordered and devoured a delicious crème brûlée and Crowley sipped at the blackest coffee that she’d ever seen. She couldn’t imagine how anyone could sleep after consuming such pure caffeine, but he didn’t even seem effected. 

“What’s Friday night?” 

“Well, if we were getting married, I’d think we would go to your side of town for dinner. Be seen by your crowd, not just mine.”

As much as she hated to admit it, he had a point. This meant a few more weeks of wining and dining, before they could enact her grand plan. 

“Fine. We’ll go to one of my favourite places this time,” She replied. She might have loved his restaurant, but she wasn’t going to let him know that. 

* * *

It turned out, her favourite place was the Ritz. Crowley found he was not at all surprised by that. What he was surprised by, was the fact that she was actually good company. She was a little too goody-two-shoes, but she had a wicked sense of humour and she was smart. Far smarter than her parents. And it seemed that they didn’t give her the credit for it. She easily backed up her claims that she liked reading, as she discussed books she’d read at length. While Crowley didn’t read, as a general rule, he was happy to listen and Aziraphale was more that happy to talk. 

He found himself not minding spending time with her. And the looks of envy he got from every man didn’t hurt. 

He was used to seducing beautiful women. Spending quality time with one was foreign to him. He found he didn’t mind it, although it did suck having to go home alone at the end of every night. But he couldn’t risk taking any other women to his regular hotel, not even his more discreet companions. It was getting sad and he was getting desperate. 

But all in all, he could survive this. It was only for a little while longer. 

It also didn’t hurt that the city had become a lot safer. With an apparent ceasefire between the families, there was no random gunfire or mysterious poisonings. The morale amongst his men had increased tenfold. It was weird to see even Hastur cheerful. It was slightly unnerving. 

But no one would risk the wrath of both families raining down upon them by disturbing the peace. 

* * *

It was one week before the kidnapping, and the ‘happy couple’ were out at a new club. It had just opened, and it was VIP’s only. This was the kind of event they both would’ve attended in the past too, but separately and they’d each try to stake out a claim. This time though, they were going together.

And Crowley, while he’d usually try to leave with at least one woman, was pleased to have someone to talk to. These things could get dull. 

“This place is nice,” She said, sinking down onto one of the plush couches in the uppermost VIP areas. 

In recent times, this area would’ve been a hot commodity and whoever got it would’ve won the battle. But with their combined forces, there was no issue. They both won. 

“It’s alright.” He shrugged, collapsing on the couch, earning a disapproving look for disrespecting the furniture. He merely grinned in reply. 

He lounged beside her, making himself comfortable. Unlike previous encounters, Aziraphale didn’t jump or flinch away from where his knee knocked into hers. 

She wore a short dress, a pale blue, which seemed to glow in the flashing neon lights and made the blue in her eyes seem even more vibrant.

Crowley had also dressed up, wearing his nicest, tightest black jeans and a black blazer that fit snugly over a low cut grey t-shirt. He’d seen the looks from all ages, genders and sexualities thrown at them both as they’d made their way through the crowded rooms. If his ego hadn’t already filled the club, it would’ve now. 

He would’ve thought that Aziraphale was unaffected, but he saw her pleased, shy little smile at the attention. Crowley had noticed how she usually shrunk from the spotlight. It seemed odd to him that such a beautiful, intelligent and powerful woman would be so self-conscious. But it was nice to see her enjoying it for once. 

“Would you like a drink?” He asked her, summoning Ligur as if from nowhere. 

“Just a Harvey Wallbanger, please.” She smiled at Ligur. 

Ligur looked at him confused. Crowley didn’t think anyone had ever smiled at Ligur.

“A Harvey Wallbanger? Are you 80?” He scoffed. 

She just glared at him, but it wasn’t a vicious glare. She knew he was just kidding. Which was odd. Usually his sarcasm and wry tone got lost in translation. He felt a little afloat that she understood him so easily. He must be losing his touch. 

“Can I get a scotch? In fact, make it an entire bottle. The best they’ve got.” He flicked his limitless credit card at Ligur, who fumbled, but caught it and set about his task of procuring copious amounts of alcohol. 

They sat and drank for hours. The music from the dance floor below filtered up enough that they had to crowd together on their couch to hear each other, but not enough to make them scream or cause irreparable hearing loss. 

After Aziraphale had finished her 5th Harvey Wallbanger and Crowley was sufficiently drunk enough on his second bottle of scotch, he leaned into her ear and purred, “Wanna dance?” 

Instead of rolling her eyes or scoffing like he expected, she met his gaze and, rather embarrassed, admitted “I don’t know how to dance.” 

“We’ve danced before.” He vividly recalled holding her in his arms at their engagement party and they waltzed around the floor. 

“I can’t dance like that,” She nodded downwards, indicating the dancing, writhing throng below them. 

“Let me show you.” He stood and held his hand out.

She stared at it and him for a few moments before the drunk, reckless side won out and she took it, letting him pull her to her feet. 

“Come on.”

He tugged her hand and led her past their cronies who stood guard at the door, down to the dance floor. He used his hand to pull her into him and then he started to move. First it was just his hips, bumping against hers as the music thumped through them, then he grabbed her other hand and began moving their arms together too. 

“Move with me, Azira,” He breathed against her ear. 

She began to move, mimicking his moves the best she could, but she was self-conscious and she kept looking at her hips as they swivelled. 

“Relax. Close your eyes. Just move with me, ok?” 

She looked up at him, eyes wide and trusting, before she smiled and did as he asked.

It wasn’t long before they were moving together as one, amongst the crowd of sticky, sweaty strangers that swarmed the floor. 

“Hey Crowley,” A shout came from nearby. 

Both Aziraphale and Crowley snapped to attention, nerves immediately on edge. 

“Kiss her,” Yelled another voice. Or maybe the same voice. Crowley couldn’t tell. 

“Wish I could fuck her,” Jeered a less sober voice. 

Crowley watched as a blush spread across Aziraphale’s cheeks. She looked at him, questioning. They hadn’t had to go that far in their pantomime before. But perhaps it had been inevitable. 

So he leaned towards her and she balanced on her tip toes and then they were kissing. The sounds of jeers and cheers filled the room, but neither heard. The only sound they heard was the pounding of their hearts as their lips danced together. 

Crowley had kissed hundreds, maybe thousands of people. But nothing had ever felt like this. He felt her arms wrap around him, easily circling his slim waist, as she pushed into him. 

And then it hit him, like a divine message, breaking through the haze of his inebriation.

He was falling in love with her.

And he wanted nothing more for it to be real. But it wasn’t. In a weeks time, they would be publicly ending their engagement, and their relationship, for good. 

And he wasn’t so sure that he shouldn’t be playing the heartbroken role. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to look up the meaning of Crowley's last name. Not gonna lie, I was pretty proud of myself when I found that.
> 
> This one got away from me. I'll probably be writing the ending once I've finished all my other prompts, since this decided to become a multi chapter fic all on it's own. 
> 
> Would anyone want to read more?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding is rapidly approaching and both Crowley and Aziraphale are struggling with their feelings.

Aziraphale hated Anthony ‘Crowley’ D’Agostino.

Or she had, hadn’t she? They were rivals, enemies and opposites. Or at least, they had been. 

She wasn’t entirely sure anymore. Since they had begun spending time together for their fake engagement, she had discovered a lot about him she never would've imagined. She’d expected the charm and arrogance, but what she hadn’t expected was that he was actually a nice person beneath the arsehole persona. 

Of course, they still disagreed on many things. She had never hated him more than during one dinner, when he’d voiced the opinion that he shouldn’t have to read, because " _any book good enough would be made into a movie_ " and he could just watch that instead. Luckily, she knew him well enough to know it was a terrible attempt at a joke, or he’d have been wearing her very expensive red wine. His joyous laugh at the appalled expression on her face had been enough to erase her anger until she was laughing along with him. It had felt good. 

Despite the supposed repulsion to reading, Crowley was surprisingly knowledgeable about many books and subjects. He even taught her a few things. For instance, he had an encyclopedic knowledge of plants. She’d never have guessed it in a million years. 

But what really surprised Aziraphale most about him was that he seemed to treat her with respect. She had tried for so many years to earn the respect of those around her, trying to make her own name, since her family name and connections could only carry her so far. And Crowley, despite them being bitter rivals, was somehow treating her with all the respect she’d ever desired.

It was driving her mad. How was she supposed to go back to hating him and wanting his entire family gone if he kept listening to her, making her laugh and smiling at her with those dimples? 

It was a bit of a dilemma. 

She kept hoping that he’d do something to prove that he actually was the Hell-spawn that her parents had always taught her he was. Until they’d arranged their marriage, of course. Then their tunes had abruptly changed. And she still didn’t trust that, but until her parents revealed their plans, she would have to wait and see. 

All in all, Crowley had become a friend. A close friend. Probably the first friend she’d had who wasn’t just her friend because they were afraid of her parents. 

But she’d soon be losing him forever and to be honest, she was disappointed. Couldn’t they at least stay friends? 

* * *

Crowley was having a bit of a breakdown. 

He couldn’t be in love with Aziraphale. That was impossible. He liked her well enough, but love? That was a step too far. So what if she was funny, beautiful and smart? That didn’t mean anything. She could also be a righteous pain in his arse. She was stubborn, sarcastic and a know-it-all. 

But ever since their kiss in the club, Crowley couldn’t deny it. He couldn't stop thinking about her. He’d be doing something and stop and think about what she’d think of it, or what she might be doing. 

It was utterly pathetic. 

Their kiss had replayed itself in his mind so many times it was almost on a permanent loop. He tried to convince himself it was due to his imposed celibacy, while they were ‘engaged’. But he knew it wasn’t. He thought about it because he’d enjoyed it. And not just because it was a good kiss (though it was), but because it had _meant_ something to him. 

Crowley wasn’t the lovey-dovey type. He was a playboy. Sex and dating were means to an end. Love didn’t have anything to do with it. 

But Aziraphale was like no other woman he’d ever known and it worried him. The idea of losing her, of losing their relationship, worried him. He didn’t know what to do and he had less than a week to figure it out. 

He obviously couldn’t tell her how he felt. That was a given. She’d laugh at him for falling for the charade. And she would never feel the same. She’d made it clear how she felt about their ‘engagement’, when she’d hatched the plan to have him dump and kidnap her. Even if she saw them as friends – which was a big if – there was still no way she would go back on the plan now. 

* * *

Over the weeks of their engagement, they’d begun to call and text each other every day. In that way, it was more like a real relationship than Aziraphale had ever had before. It was comforting at the end of each day to catch up with him. As time ticked on, they became more and more familiar, talking for hours, rather than minutes and talking about anything and everything, rather than just the situation they’d been forced into.   
Aziraphale had come to look forward to it. 

But with one week left of their friendship, Crowley began to pull away. He called less and less and when she called him, he made excuses to hang up quickly. 

She felt a little bit hurt. But she was busy in the lead up to the ‘wedding’, so she figured he must be as well. She wouldn’t take it personally. Or at least, she tried not to. Yet, every attempt to meet up was met with one roadblock or another and she was beginning to worry. They hadn’t finalised the plan for the ‘break-up’ and her over-anxious tendencies were playing up.

“ _Hi. This is Anthony Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style_.” 

Aziraphale huffed a disapproving sigh. It wasn’t the most professional answering machine message. But it was so very Crowley. 

“Crowley, dear,” She began, flinching at her use of the endearment, but she soldiered on, “It’s only two days until we are having dinner, and we haven’t discussed details. Can you please ring me back?” 

She hated the begging in her voice, but the whole scheme was making her nervous. She avoided giving details to his answering machine, just in case it was overheard. She didn’t want to think about what would happen if they didn’t pull it off or got themselves caught. Lucian had a temper at the best of times. And her parents… They’d never trust or respect her again. 

He didn’t ring her back. She awoke to a rushed text message. 

_Meet me @ our 1st date spot @ 8._

It wasn’t a romantic message, but it did get his meaning across, she supposed. She had hoped he’d pick her up and they could drive together in his Bentley, but she would make do. She had drivers for a reason. 

* * *

The wedding was scheduled for Saturday, which was three days away. Aziraphale arrived at Crowley’s restaurant and noticed that the place was unusually busy for a Wednesday night. But it didn’t really matter. They would get a table, whether he’d remembered to book or not. Though she’d reminded him at least twice. 

“Madame D’Agostino, what a pleasant surprise,” The maître d' greeted with a bow. 

Aziraphale was too busy being annoyed at Crowley for not booking the table that she almost missed the fact the maître d' had used her soon-to-be-married-name. It gave her pause, but she shook it off. She had her own name and identity, not just that of a wife. And somehow, in all the planning, she'd forgotten she was soon to be a wife. But she couldn’t correct him, so instead, she smiled and let him kiss her ring-less hand. 

“I’m afraid monsieur Crowley hasn’t yet arrived. Would you prefer to sit at the bar or at a table while you wait?” He asked, taking her coat and bag. 

The fact Crowley was not there yet didn’t shock her. She was early, as she always was. And Crowley wasn’t the most punctual of people at the best of times. 

She rolled her eyes with a fond smile.

“I’ll sit at the bar until he arrives.” 

She was escorted to the bar, where a barstool was hastily procured for her. From where, she wasn’t sure. But she was quickly seated in the middle of the bar and the bartender was immediately at her service. She didn’t fail to notice the envious looks that were thrown her way by the other patrons, some of whom had clearly been waiting a while. It made her uncomfortable, but she a tiny part of her also enjoyed the special treatment. Being the future Mrs D’Agostino apparently had its perks. 

“A Harvey Wallbanger, please,” She ordered, smiling at the memory of their night in the club.

A club was the last place she usually found herself having fun, but something about that night had made her feel free for the first time in forever. She’d danced. And she never danced, unless it was a stuffy waltz at some society function or other. But she’d danced, like a regular person. And Crowley had led her, with gentle patience and his body pressed to hers. It had been nice. 

The bartender interrupted her thoughts to hand her the drink and she sat, sipping it and waited. 

And waited.

Crowley was late. But it wasn’t a big deal. Even though he knew how much she hated tardiness. 

She ordered a second drink, sipping it slower than the first. 

By the time Crowley finally arrived, 35 minutes late and looking unkempt, Aziraphale was considering ordering a third. 

“Hey, angel. Are we eating or what?” He said, by way of a greeting. 

Aziraphale frowned at him. He shrugged and walked away before she could say a word, making his way to their table, which another couple was being swiftly cleared from. She followed behind, feeling hurt. 

The waiter was at their side in an instant, smiling and holding the menus. Aziraphale went to grab one, but they were pushed out of her reach before she could. 

“Just the usual for us both,” Crowley ordered and sent the waiter away with a dismissive flick of his hand.

The waiter bowed and scurried away. A heavy silence descended on the table. 

“Are you alright?” She asked, burying her hurt and anger, in favour of making sure he was ok. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” He grumbled. 

She had known they were supposed to fight, but she hadn’t expected him to initiate the fight at the beginning of the meal. She was thinking they’d build up to it. She knew they should’ve been fighting in public before now. Nothing serious, just little arguments, to lay the ground work for this ‘break-up’. But they’d been having too much fun that she hadn’t wanted to ruin it. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered why he hadn’t done it either. 

“You were late. I thought something might have been wrong.” She tried to keep the concern out of her voice, but she heard it anyway. She wondered if he heard it too. 

“Nah. I just got caught up with some stuff.” He wasn’t meeting her eyes. 

She felt tears begin to well up and she looked away quickly, blinking them back. She felt ridiculous, being upset over his dismissive attitude, but it felt so cold and detached. So unlike him. 

They sat in silence until their meals came. Aziraphale wanted to say something, but she didn’t know what. Her heart was aching and she couldn’t make sense of what she was feeling. 

But she shook off her discomfort and joined in their plan. 

“Why are you doing this?” She finally asked. She tried not to sound too accusatory – yet. She couldn’t be too dramatic straight away. But she let a little of her hurt bubble up, fueling her. 

He looked up from his steak, with a confused furrowed brow. 

“Why am I doing what?” He asked, barely having swallowed his mouthful. 

She smothered her disgust. He usually had better manners.

“Why are you here with me when you’d clearly much rather be anywhere else,” Her voice wavered and she cleared her throat to steady it.

“Aziraphale, can’t we just eat in peace?”

“No, Anthony,” She stumbled over his real name, “We are supposed to be getting married in a few days and you can hardly look at me!” She raised her voice a little more. She felt more and more eyes turn to them, some more obviously than others. 

They were about to get dinner and a show. 

“Come on, just drop it.” His face had hardened, as if he was angry at her. 

“No. I thought you…” She paused, not sure how to continue. For some reason the L word was sticking on her tongue. But they were supposed to be in love. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? 

He was looking at her, waiting. She swallowed what she wanted to say. 

“Never mind,” She muttered, deflating. All the righteous anger had fled. 

“No. Say what you were going to say,” He goaded her. 

She squared up and looked him in the eyes as she replied, “I thought you cared. I thought we had something special.” 

That much wasn’t a lie. They had a lot in common. Similar family expectations, similar senses of humour, similar tastes in music (mostly, since Crowley also listened to modern rock music she didn’t understand). In a lot of ways, it seemed inevitable they would become friends. They were the only two people who understood their unique positions. 

She hadn’t realised how much she’d needed it until she’d had it. 

“Oh, little naïve angel. You thought I cared? That’s cute,” He spat. He was grinning, but it was too sharp, with too many teeth. She wondered if this was how he played with those who had offended him, taunting and torturing them, before finally giving in and punishing them. 

For the first time since this whole thing began, she saw Crowley, the evil demon rather than Crowley, her unlikely friend and partner. 

“Then why are we here? Why are you doing this to me?” She let a tear slip down her face. 

“Because I want you.” He leered at her. 

Her heart leapt and she knew she was dumbly staring at him. Something in the back of her mind clicked into place. 

But then he continued, “I want to own you and your turf. If all I have to do to get it is to seduce you, pretend I love you,” She felt herself shaking, “Then why wouldn’t I do it? You’re so innocent that you never saw it coming, did you, _angel_?”

At the nickname, something she’d actually come to enjoy being said with such venom, her anger rushed back with full force. She needed to stand up for herself. 

“That’s all this was? That’s all I am to you?” 

She physically stood and he followed, knocking his chair over in his haste. It crashed to the floor, but neither of them cared. 

“And what am I to you, exactly? Do you actually _love me_?” He laughed. 

He was a good actor, she had to admit. It almost seemed like he wanted to know beneath the biting, mocking tone. But she couldn’t answer. Not because didn’t know the answer. But because, deep down, she did. 

“Fuck you, Crowley.”

She ran out of the restaurant, holding the sobs at bay until she collapsed into the waiting car. 

“Take me home.” 

* * *

Crowley watched her flee and fought with himself. Should he follow her? He didn’t think it would be a good idea, given the situation, but every fibre of his being was crying out for him to find her and beg forgiveness. 

Would she ever speak to him again? They’d had an arrangement, and he’d only followed the plan. Her plan. But the way she’d yelled at him and the tears in her sky blue eyes had seemed so real. Even though that made no sense. Why would she be so upset? 

She must be a great actor. 

Storming out of the restaurant, he practically threw the cash – an obscene amount of it – at the maître d'. He didn’t care about being rude. Even though he could almost hear Aziraphale’s voice telling him off. 

He’d really felt like he’d blown it this time. He’d been too harsh, gone in too hard and fast, but what else was he supposed to do? They had to sell it. They had to make it look real. So far he thought they’d done a pretty good job of making their relationship seem genuine. So much so that he had tricked himself into wanting it to be real. He couldn’t really be in love with her. That would be crazy. 

He arrived back at his flat in record time. The Bentley screeched to a stop outside his building, in the spot that was his. There may not have been an official reserved sign, but if anyone else dared park there, they soon learnt their lesson. 

He stormed in and slammed the door. Collapsing onto his couch with a groan, he lay there, trying desperately to forget the look on her face as she’d cried. But before too long he was startled by an almighty banging on his door. He had a doorbell, but apparently whoever was visiting at midnight on a Wednesday didn’t care about that. 

Cautiously, he approached, making sure not to make any noise. He expected to see Gabriel and Michael, or at least some of their henchmen, come to kill him for hurting Aziraphale, or breaking the engagement. Instead, as he peered through the peephole, he saw his father, who looked furious. He wasn’t entirely sure if that was better or worse. 

He thought about walking away and returning to his wallowing, but his father banged on the door again. 

“Open this door, right now, Anthony. I know you’re in there.” Crowley thought he was bluffing, until he added, “The Bentley is outside. And if you don’t let me in, I’ll have it towed and scrapped.” 

Being in the penthouse meant not having too many neighbours, but the racket his father was making guaranteed that the entire building was awake and cursing his existence. 

He had no choice but to open the door.

“Hello, father. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He aimed for nonchalance. 

“Cut the bullshit. You know why I’m here.” Luciano pushed past him into his flat, slamming the door behind him. 

“Of course, come in, why don’t you?” He whispered mockingly as he followed in his father’s wake. Luckily, his father either didn’t hear or chose to ignore his insolence. 

“What did you do? What do you have to say for yourself?” His father snarled. 

He considered playing dumb, but he knew it would just make Luciano angrier. It was best to get it over and done with as quickly as possible. 

“I told the Angelo bitch where to go. So what?” He shrugged, trying to sell the lie. 

It hurt him to think back to when he thought Aziraphale was a stuck up little princess. He couldn’t have been more wrong. She was generous, with both her time and money, regaling him with stories of reading to orphans and volunteering at the animal shelter. She could still be haughty and rude, but that was more of a defence mechanism than anything else. And he found it endearing, in a strange way.

How could somebody be as perfect as Aziraphale?

“Do you know how much effort it took to get those Angelo bastards to agree to a ceasefire, let alone a marriage? Years of planning, all destroyed because you couldn't control your temper. You’ve ruined everything, you stupid boy.” His father turned on him and stared him down.

He fought the urge to shrink away. His father’s temper was deadly and explosive. But Crowley wasn’t a scared child anymore. 

“You didn’t really want me to marry her, did you? And now we get to go back to killing them.” 

Again, the thought of hurting Aziraphale or anyone she loved had his heart aching. The image of her tear stained face would haunt him forever. 

But he had a part to play. 

His father slapped him without warning. Hard. Crowley recoiled, hand flying to his stinging cheek. His father gave a cruel, cold laugh. 

“Of course I didn’t want you to marry that disgusting little whore. But we needed them to think we were really agreeing to a truce.”

Crowley wanted to yell at him. Tell him that Aziraphale was sweet and funny and wonderful. But all he managed was a meek, “Why?” 

“We were going to ambush them at the wedding reception. We were going to take them all out in one fell swoop. And now you’ve destroyed all chance of that by being a petulant child, as usual. I’ll just have to things the old fashioned way,” He growled. “I’m going to hunt her down and wipe the Angelo's out once and for all.” He smirked and a chill swept over Crowley. 

Crowley didn’t know what to say. But he knew he needed to warn Aziraphale. 

* * *

Aziraphale sneaked into the house as quietly as she could, high heels in hand and dress bunched in her fist, to avoid it rustling. She had wiped away her tear stains in the car ride across the city, but she didn’t want to see anyone. She wanted to hide in the library with a cup of cocoa and a good book to forget about Crowley, their fight and how confused she felt. 

But luck was not on her side. 

“Aziraphale, is that you?” Her mother called from upstairs. 

She thought about making a run for it, but before she could, Michael was making her way down the grand staircase.

“Hi mum,” She greeted, plastering on a fake smile. 

Her mother frowned. 

When it came to lying, Aziraphale was great at it. She could lie to friends and does, getting them to do her biding. But not when it came to her parents. She could never get it right. She would stammer and fidget and nearly give herself away. But they never seemed to pick up on it. 

“Where were you?” Michael asked, crossing her arms. 

“I was out having dinner.” That wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the full truth, but it was close enough. 

“Sandy said you were with the D’Agostino boy again.” If it were possible, her mother’s frown deepened. 

Aziraphale’s fists clenched and she had to hold her tongue. They’d had security follow her? Why? 

“Yes. I was.”

“Aziraphale,” Her mother’s voice became a warning, “I don’t think you should be spending time with him.” 

“Why not? Aren’t we supposed to be getting married in a few days? Wasn’t this your decision?”

“I just don’t think you should be... _fraternising_ with him,” She spat the word fraternising as if it were disgusting.

“Fraternising?!” 

Her mother looked away and didn’t answer. A chill crept down her spine.

“Aziraphale!” Her father bellowed from the direction of his study. 

The women shared a concerned look, before they heard the thunder of his footsteps down the hall. He looked furious. Aziraphale hadn’t ever seen him so angry.

“What did that bastard Crowley say to you?” He demanded. 

“Wh-What do you mean?” She hoped they hadn’t heard about the 'break-up'. Not yet. But she knew it was too late.

“He called off the wedding. Is it true?”

“He what?” Michael gasped. 

“All our plans are ruined,” He growled. 

Aziraphale was confused. Why were they so mad?

“You didn’t really want me to marry him, did you?” 

“Of course not! That little bastard doesn’t even deserve to look at you.”

She fought the urge to defend him. It wouldn’t do any good. In fact, it would only enrage them further. 

“Then what’s the problem?” She asked, looking between them. 

Her father looked at her as if she’d said something incredibly stupid.

“We needed them to show up for the _reception_.” The way he said reception, dark and menacing, as if it meant something entirely different, had her scared. 

“There’s only one thing we can do now,” Michael turned to Gabriel with a smirk. 

“Indeed. We’re going to have to do this the old fashioned way,” He sneered. 

They both turned to Aziraphale with matching deadly smiles. 

“Can you get us close to Anthony?” 

* * *

Crowley collapsed onto his bed as soon as his father left. Spending time with his father was always a draining experience, but being yelled at by him was the worst. It didn’t help that no matter what he did, his father never thought it was good enough. It was hard being such a disappointment, but Crowley had come to accept it. 

He wanted to call Aziraphale. Not just to warn her about his father’s plans – although he definitely needed to – but also, he just wanted to talk. Talking to her and being around her made him feel better. She was a ray of sunshine that always brightened his day, not matter how bad he might have been feeling. 

But he wasn’t sure if she’d even pick up the phone. It was late – or early, depending on the perspective. She’d probably be sound asleep. And even if she weren’t, he’d hurt her tonight. Or at least, he thought he had. The lines between what was real and what was just for show were blurred so much that Crowley couldn’t figure out which way was up or down any more.

He felt dizzy just thinking about the fact that they were supposed to be getting married in a few days. Of course, it was never supposed to actually happen and he kicked himself for not seeing it sooner. But it seemed so obvious now. Luciano wasn’t known for mercy or peace. 

He couldn’t call her. It was too dangerous anyway. Who knew who might be listening. From his side or hers. Not that it really mattered. Were there even sides any more? It felt like his side was him and Aziraphale. He wanted to protect her, even against himself. 

Not that she needed protecting. He knew she didn’t. She was tougher than she seemed. Sometimes it was easy to forget that she was the heir to a criminal family. But when she was talking about books or food or animals, she lost herself and became unabashedly passionate and adorably vulnerable. And Crowley loved it. 

He stared at the phone clutched in his hand. He wouldn’t call her now. He’d call her tomorrow and they’d work out what to do, together. 

Until then, he’d pathetically read through the messages they’d sent over the past few weeks and try to remember her face when she was happy. 

* * *

Aziraphale wasn’t going to let her parents touch Crowley. He didn’t deserve to be hurt for the mistakes of his father any more than she did for the sins of her parents. And finally she was old enough to know that what her parents did was wrong. They weren’t the infallible heroes she thought they were when she was young and naïve. 

When she’d first heard about the truce and the betrothal, she’d been sceptical and angry. But now, she couldn’t see what could possibly be gained by going back to the bloodshed. Who did it serve? 

Crowley wasn’t perfect. But he wasn’t _bad_. He was surprisingly nice, considering what she’d thought about him only a few weeks previous. 

She needed to warn him about her parents. She knew he could look after himself, but if he believed there was a truce in place, he might let them closer than he usually would. 

She wanted to pick up the phone and call him. She wanted to talk to him. But there was something stopping her. She didn’t know what she was feeling exactly, only that it had her feeling incredibly off balance. And he was the one who she’d usually talk to about her problems. Their relationship had quickly become indispensable to her and she didn’t know what she’d do without him. He would survive without her, but she wasn’t sure how she’d fare without him. 

She couldn’t ring him just yet. Her emotions and thoughts were a mess. She needed time to calm down and figure out a new plan. She’d wait until tomorrow and call him under the guise of setting up the kidnapping. Then she could talk to him and figure out why the idea of losing him had her stomach in knots. 

* * *

Crowley awoke after barely any sleep to his phone vibrating underneath him. He groaned as he rolled off it and tried to turn it off without having to fully wake up.

His back gave a twinge. No matter how comfortable a couch was, it still made his back ache to sleep on it. He groped around for the phone and blearily peered at the caller ID. 

He shot up at the sight of Aziraphale’s name. He cleared his throat and answered. 

“Hey. What’s up?” His voice still sounded croaky and very obviously sleepy. He cursed himself. 

“Crowley, we need to talk,” She said seriously. 

The blood in his veins froze as his heart stopped. Those words never bode well. But he quickly recovered himself. It wasn’t like she could dump him. For a start, they weren’t even dating. And he’d ‘broken-up’ with her the night before. What was the worst she could possibly say? 

“Sure, what do we need to talk about?” He asked, trying to sound cool, calm and collected. Any trace of sleep had been cleared from his mind. 

“Dinner tonight. We have to cancel,” She said quickly, almost as if it were one word.

“No,” He blurted. He shook himself and tried again. “I mean, why?” 

“Because,” She hesitated, “Something’s come up.” 

“Something’s come up?” He repeated incredulously. “We’re meant to be getting married in a few days.”

“But –” She began.

“Listen, Aziraphale,” He cut her off, “If this is about last night, can’t we just forget about it?” He couldn’t let her say anything incriminating. If either of them were being spied on, they’d be in big trouble. 

“Forget about it? You humiliated me!” She did do a great job of sounding upset. 

“I know. You don’t have to forgive me. That’s part of a D’Agostino’s job description. Unforgivable. But just have dinner with me and I’ll explain. I’ll make it up to you.” He wasn’t begging. He didn’t beg. He was above that. But he was desperate for her to put aside her pride for once and just listen to him. 

“No.” 

"Aziraphale –"

"No, Crowley." Her tone said not to bother arguing. God, she could be so stubborn. 

“This is ridiculous,” He scoffed. 

“You’re ridiculous,” She replied haughtily. 

“I don’t even know why I’m talking to you.”

“Frankly, neither do I.” 

“Well, fine then.”

There was silence. He wondered why she hadn’t hung up yet, when he heard her sigh. 

“Crowley,” She sounded almost apologetic, but he knew it was his own wishful thinking. 

“How long have we been together?”

“Together? We aren’t together. We’re an Angelo and a D’Agostino. I don’t even like you.” 

He hoped it sounded enough like an exaggeration that if anyone were listening, it would sound like a lie. They couldn’t allow their arrangement to become public knowledge.

“You do,” He protested weakly. He couldn’t argue the first part, but he could argue that she liked him. She did, didn’t she? He didn’t know for sure, but they’d had some fun, hadn’t they? They’d been getting along. 

“We’re on opposite sides.” 

“We’re not. We’re on our side.” As he said it, he knew how pathetic he was acting, but he couldn’t take the words back, even if he wanted to. 

“There is no ‘our side', Anthony. Not anymore. It’s over.”

At the sound of his own name, his real name, his heart broke. There was no going back. 

“Right. Well then. Have a nice life.” 

He hung up, breathing ragged and heart pounding. He was screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This looks like it'll end up being three chapters. Maybe 4. 
> 
> I'm incorporating some book/show bits and bobs, like the infamous bandstand scene a.k.a. the scene that breaks our hearts, because Aziraphale almost cries and they 'break-up' despite not actually being together. 
> 
> These two are a mess. We love them, but boy are they dramatic and stubborn.


End file.
